


Shards of Glass

by NoisyNoiverns



Series: Exponential Differentiation [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Reapers, Ficlet Collection, Multiple Pairings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/pseuds/NoisyNoiverns
Summary: Outtakes and off-camera scenes from Broken Mirror.





	1. Wakey, Wakey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nihlus doesn't get to rest properly, and Saren worries. Takes place prior to Chapter 5 of _Broken Mirror_.

A shaking sensation at his shoulder almost managed to rouse Nihlus from his dream about helping Blasto hunt down a talking varren trying to steal all the galaxy's vegetables, but not quite.

"Nihlus."

He tilted his head and squinted at the varren. It sounded different. And had its top hat always been green?

"Nihlus, it's time to get up."

Hold on, that was--

_"Nihlus!"_

Saren shook his shoulder more violently this time, and his eyes snapped open as he yelped and protested, "I'm up! I'm up!"

Saren let go of him and backed away, making room for him to sit up and stretch. "Normally, I'd be happy to let you sleep, but we need to get going soon if we're going to meet your human."

Nihlus yawned and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He wasn't sitting on his blessedly soft mattress, he noted, and opening his eyes again showed him why. "Really, Saren? You let me pass out on the couch?"

Saren fidgeted. "I was going to wake you so you could get to bed, but you were so exhausted, I thought I should let you sleep," he admitted.

Nihlus took a moment to process this, brain still sluggish with sleep, then quirked up a mandible and smoothed a hand over the blankets Saren had covered him with, now pooled around his waist. "You see, I _told_  Avitus you're an old broody at heart," he teased. "You can't fool _me_  with that surly cob routine."

Saren stiffened, and his neck turned a couple shades bluer than usual before he shook his head and flicked a mandible, hard. "We have an hour before we have to meet your human at Niravi's. You should at least get dressed first."

Nihlus lowered one mandible and looked Saren up and down, noting the rumpled sweatpants and Spectre hoodie. "I suspect I already know the answer, but are you going to change at all?"

Saren shook his head, and Nihlus snorted internally. Of course not. "This will be fine."

"If you say so." He yawned again and stretched his arms out behind him, then shook his head, rolled his shoulders, and hauled his legs off the couch. "I didn't get to wash last night. Is there time?"

"If you're quick." Saren flicked a mandible and turned to start walking away. "There's still half a pot of kava on. If you hurry, you may get to it before it cools."

Nihlus pushed himself to his feet and took a moment to catch his balance. "And if not, you'll buy me a cup at Niravi's, right?"

"Naturally," came the distant response from the kitchen.

Nihlus smiled to himself and ambled off down the hall. Saren was far from a morning person, but something about Nihlus passing out cold always seemed to trigger manual override and push him to be up and ready anyway. There was something terribly endearing about it.

It felt like ages since he'd been able to bathe properly. The _Normandy_  only had water showers, which he hated with a passion. The water collected in his cowl, and he just didn't feel as clean as he did with a sand-and-oil bath. Scrubbing at his plates in front of the mirror now, he could practically feel the weeks of grime being shorn off with the layers of old, dead keratin. Having to keep it quick almost felt like a crime, but at the same time, he felt like a new turian after only a six-minute rush job.

His freshly-scoured plates and skin stung as he pulled on his clothes for the day -- white tunic with black accents, black pants, black shoes. Simple, yet professional. Saren might have been fine with appearing before the Council in exercise gear, but Nihlus had yet to reach that level of not caring.

Besides, even with his brain addled with sleep, he could still enjoy the appreciative look-over Saren gave him when he finally made it to the kitchen.

Saren's eyes followed Nihlus's hips as he made his way to the steaming mug of kava waiting for him on the counter. "I already added everything the way you like it," Saren informed him as he picked it up. "Will you be warm enough in that? You know how chilly the Presidium is this early in the day cycle."

Nihlus grunted and took a sip, closing his eyes as the heat from the mug seeped into his hands. "You worry too much. I'll be fine."

Saren paused, subvocals whispering concern, then snorted, spun around, and marched off, head held high. Nihlus just sighed and shook his head. Weird old bird.

As he drank, he listened to rummaging noises from the other room for a minute before Saren came striding back, a length of deep green cloth bundled over one arm. "Here," was all he said as he held it out.

Nihlus took another drink, eyeing his fetched cloak with a half-lidded, disinterested gaze. "You know," he said finally, "I really don't see how anyone can buy your loner act."

Saren blinked, then growled and lowered his mandibles. But his subvocals, laced with worry and affection, tempered the gesture, so Nihlus just lifted his mandibles and moved to let Saren drape the cloak over his shoulders and fuss with the fabric until it hung _just so._  "Thanks, Saren," he added to the top of his old friend's head as he fastened the clasps in front. "I appreciate the concern, really."

Saren paused in his ministrations and looked up, studying Nihlus's face for a minute as if trying to decide whether or not the sentiment was sincere. He must have been satisfied with whatever he found there, because he moved on to arranging how the fabric in Nihlus's cowl fell around his neck. "You were half-dead last night," he told him, his usual clipped tone muted somewhat by how quietly he said it. "I thought you were going to collapse in bed without removing your armor first. Then you stagger back out, watch half an hour of vids, and you're out cold on the couch. I was... worried."

Nihlus considered this, then hummed low in his throat and stretched his head forward to press his nasal plates against the top of Saren's crest. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"I know," Saren grumbled. "But with everything that happened on Eden Prime..."

He trailed off, and Nihlus connected the dots with little effort. "You were afraid something happened I wasn't telling you about," he surmised, and set his empty mug on the counter so he could wrap Saren in a gentle hug. "Says the one who got _stabbed._  Honestly, Saren."

"That's different," Saren protested, but he relaxed into Nihlus's grip anyway and pressed his face into the crook of his neck. "I'm glad you're safe, Nihlus."

Nihlus hummed and nuzzled his head for a moment, then slowly, reluctantly, let his arms fall. "Come on," he said, "we need to meet Shepard."

Saren's subvocals hissed _displeased-reluctant-acquiescent_  as he sighed and backed away. "Unfortunately." One mandible flickered, and he mused, "If you're still tired, I could always _Throw_  you to the Presidium."

Nihlus snorted and shook his head, pulling up his omni-tool. "Don't even. I'll call for a cab."


	2. Gay Fight Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard, Nihlus, and Saren swing by Spectre HQ for a bit of practice. Takes place between chapters 12 and 13 of Broken Mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote this on tumblr a while ago but i'm only just now getting around to putting it here

“Alright, Shepard,” Nihlus mused, punching in his key code to the door, “Let’s say you get into close quarters with your target. No guns, just your fists. What does the Alliance say for fighting different species?”

The door slid open, and Shepard followed him into one of the many practice rooms in Spectre headquarters, Saren ghosting along behind them. They wouldn’t have even known he was there, if not for the quiet clicking of his talons against the floor. What he had against shoes, they’d never understand. As the tile turned to padding, and Saren’s  _click-click-click_  turned to  _skrit-skrit-skrit,_  they chose instead to focus on the question, rifling back through the months of briefings about their newfound galactic neighbors they’d sat through after Shanxi. “Asari are about equal to any human, but their biotics are a game-breaker. Try to get some damping down as fast as possible,” they began slowly. “Batarians are light- and sound-sensitive. Best shot against them is if you run into them on a bright, sunny day, or happen to have a whistle to blow.”

“Fair, fair,” Nihlus hummed, turning to face them and folding his arms under his keel. “Salarians? Turians? Krogan?”

“Salarians are fast and agile,” they rattled off, gaining confidence the more they remembered. “They’ll dodge a lot, but they usually have knives or something on them, so it’s best to try to subdue them as fast as possible. Get in close and hit as hard as you can. Turians…” They faltered, wondering if it was really a good idea to tell two aliens what the Alliance said about taking them down in a fight, then swallowed and soldiered on. “Turians are big, nasty motherfuckers that are sharp at all five ends and then some, but they’re top-heavy. Best course of action is to try to get in close and pull them down by the cowl, but that leaves you open to the talons and teeth, so do it fast and take them by surprise.”  _Okay, Mattie, finish strong._  “And krogan, just start running.”

Saren snorted softly, and Nihlus rumbled what sounded almost like a laugh. “Good advice. But as a Spectre, you’re going to run into all types, not just the textbook standard. What about a salarian built like a krogan, or a batarian who’s trained themselves to work in broad daylight?” He nodded towards Saren. “Saren is the smallest turian I know, and the most powerful turian biotic in the past several  _centuries._  He was trained by asari, and he fights like a salarian in close quarters. If you tried to fight him like you would any other turian, you’d be flat on your back in no time.”

Saren thrummed, neck a tinge more blue than usual but mandibles raised. “Nihlus, please.”

Nihlus flicked a mandible upwards for a moment, then back down. “Most standard military trainings have a good grasp of the basics, but as a Spectre, you need to get used to fighting on your feet. Never assume what your opponent will fight like. Wait for them to establish themselves, and adjust accordingly. Saren and I will demonstrate.”

Saren’s head snapped up, mandibles taut to his face. “We will?”

Nihlus lowered one mandible and shook his head. “Why did you  _think_ I asked you to come along to a  _training room?”_

Saren thought about this for a moment, mandibles working in small circles, then he snorted and clicked his mandibles at Nihlus. “Don’t question me,  _Kryik.”_

Nihlus just rolled his eyes and motioned for Shepard to move off to one side. “Stand over there, Shepard, and watch closely.”

They obliged, and the two turians squared off. Even lacking armor and clad only in a muscle shirt and cargo shorts, Nihlus made a strikingly imposing figure, burly and broad and definitely made to take a hit. On the other hand, Saren, his goth attire from Eden Prime replaced by a muscle shirt of his own and loose sweats, was anything but, shaped more like a bundle of twigs haphazardly thrown together in the approximate guise of a turian than a top-tier fighter. He looked like a particularly strong gust of wind could take him out, much less a tank of a turian like Nihlus.

And then he darted forward, and they realized Nihlus had been absolutely right.

The gangly build, Shepard realized, belied lean muscles and coiled grace. He was never in one place for more than a breath, circling Nihlus and dodging his attempted blows with fluid ease. He would dart in, tap Nihlus’s cowl, and dart back out before Nihlus could catch him, his small size a gift against an opponent so much bigger than himself. Occasionally, sparks of biotic light crackled and jumped along his plates, kinesthetics that only needed the extra tug from his brain to turn them into the reality-warping power they could have been.

For his part, Nihlus wasn’t exactly a pushover, either. He spun and dodged and lashed out right with Saren, and every time his lithe opponent slid out of the way, Nihlus’s claws were barely a hair’s breadth shy of their target. Power versus agility, strength versus speed, the two were locked in a deadly dance, evenly matched on opposite sides of the coin.

Remembering what Nihlus had said, Shepard shook themselves out of their trance and tried to focus in, look for anything they (or, well, Nihlus, in this case) could exploit. Saren’s feet were the key, they realized quickly – he always placed his feet before sliding to the next place in his performance, and used large steps to make sure he could pull himself far enough away to keep Nihlus from catching him. With a jolt, Shepard realized the lights of his biotics weren’t just overactive nodes responding to the usual motions; he was doing it on purpose, using the bright sparks to keep Nihlus from watching his limbs too closely.

 _Clever bastard,_ they thought to themselves.

And then Nihlus raised one leg, but brought it down on Saren’s foot instead of kicking, and Nihlus hauled himself into the exact spot Saren had been about to occupy, and just like that, it was all over.

Saren was only stunned by the impact for a moment, but that was all Nihlus needed. Faster than Shepard could process what they were looking at, Nihlus all but tackled Saren to the ground, forced his arms behind his cowl and held his wrists together there, and put one knee in the small of his back with a triumphant little growl.

He looked back at Shepard, panting slightly. “See what I mean?” he rumbled. “He doesn’t fight like a turian, so you can’t beat him like one.”

Saren, who in his surrender had settled his chin on the floor and looked rather bored, let out a short trill. “Nihlus, you know I love it when you take control, but I would think this is a bit too public for your tastes.”

Shepard’s eyebrows shot to somewhere in the vicinity of their hairline as Nihlus’s neck flushed a bright blue.  _“Saren!”_  he admonished, nevertheless scrambling off Saren’s back.

Saren picked himself up much more neatly. While dusting himself off, he hummed, “It  _worked,_  didn’t it?”

Nihlus growled and grumbled, then reached over to grab Saren’s bicep and pull him closer, dropping his voice to hiss something Shepard couldn’t catch. While he whispered, Saren’s brow plates slowly rose, eyes widening. “Well, you should have  _started_  with that,” he finally teased, pulling away with mandibles tilted up several degrees. “I would have let you win much sooner.”

Nihlus gave him a little shove, and he fluttered his mandibles and swept off, somehow managing to do so in a way that brought a billowing cape to mind despite the distinctly “just rolled out of bed” vibe of his actual attire.

Anderson’s warning about Saren echoed in Shepard’s mind.  _He’s ruthless, and if he has morals, they only make sense to him._ Looking back and forth between Nihlus and where Saren had disappeared through the door, they had to wonder if they’d met the same Saren Arterius.

The youngest-at-induction, longest-serving, most infamous turian Spectre of them all, a biotic prodigy, legendary combatant, and little brother of the Alliance’s least favorite general, the Council’s  _golden child,_  was attached to their mission. His former student, the most decorated Spectre alive, was their mentor. And the two of them were not only in a relationship, but the former openly made comments about sex with the latter.

What the  _hell_  had they gotten themselves into?


End file.
